The Book Eaters(29)
Gailey swallowed, face darkening. She exchanged glances with the other aunts.
“Glad that’s agreed.” Luton strode back out.
Devon curled around her daughter and watched him go, heart turning to a ball of spikes inside her chest even as she broke into a sweat from sheer relief. Three years was enough to change their minds, and she would do exactly that.
No one was taking Salem away from her.
9
THE TEN FIFTEEN TO EDINBURGH
PRESENT DAY
In previous eras, mind eaters were mostly killed at birth. That changed in the 1920s, when the patriarch of the Ravenscar Manor took it upon himself to create a “cure” for one of his sons, who had been born a mind eater. Whether he did so out of love, or out of a practical realization that there was power and money to be had from such a venture, is a matter of speculation.
All we know is that, some twenty-five years later, he eventually succeeded in creating a prototype of the drug we now call Redemption. And the Six Families were changed forever.
—Amarinder Patel, Paper and Flesh: A Secret History
In the alley below Devon’s flat, a lone dragon walked up the detritus-strewn pavement. Crossing from one end of the alley to the other.
Devon dropped to a crouch behind the railing of her flat steps. “They’re learning my methods. The knights must have gone straight to check the shelters this time.”
“Shelters?” Hester crouched at her side, a still-smoldering cigarette between her fingers.
“Where I leave Cai’s victims. Humans mostly ignore their impoverished, so almost no one tips off the police.”
“True. They’re as cruel as we are, in their own way.” Hester held up a compact mirror, angling it to see around the railing of the steps. “He’s gone. For now.”
“A little close for comfort.” Devon checked her watch; 9:50 P.M. The mobile phone was burning a figurative hole in her pocket. If she was going to flee to the Ravenscars tonight, then she needed to let him know. Aloud, she said, “Did you drive down here? Is there a car we can take?”
“Sadly, no. A friend drove me to the city limits a couple days ago, and dropped me off.”
“Huh, curious choice. Why not hang around?”
“In case this was a Family trap and the city was full of knights.” Hester added reluctantly, “And I didn’t realize we’d be leaving under such duress like this.”
“Fair enough. I guess we’re taking the train, then.”
“Train?”
“With you. To see Killock Ravenscar.”
“I see.” Hester stubbed out her vanilla cigarette on the filthy brickwork and flicked it off the side. “Not that I’m complaining, but why the change of heart? I thought you didn’t trust me.”
“It’s not my decision, is it? Cai needs your cure. I can’t deny that. If I want a shot at giving him a free and happy life, then I need Redemption, and a path to safety.” Devon stalked back into the flat. “I’ll start packing.”
“What’s happening?” Cai said. “Are we still leaving?”
“Yes.” She grabbed her suitcase by the wall and took it to the bedroom. “Grab your Game Boy, please. No, put it in my messenger bag; there won’t be room in the case.” On top of the clothes, she squashed down the handful of old fairy-tale books she still owned: The History of Photogen and Nycteris; The King of Elfland’s Daughter; Princess Furball.
“All right.” He unzipped the messenger bag and tucked his console inside. Important things stayed in there, like their twenty-odd grand in cash, an emergency book to snack on, and her mobile. And now the Game Boy, which gave his life continuity. Something about the same levels, the same challenges held his attention despite all those disparate feeds he consumed.
“Can I help?” Hester said, still hovering near the front door.
“Thanks, but I’m already done.” Devon slammed the suitcase shut on her meager possessions. “I need the toilet before we leave.” She also needed a phone call before they left.
“We’re in rather a hurry!”
“Right, and I’ll be quick.” Devon escaped into the bathroom before any other objections could be raised.
She sat on the seat—because she did need to go—and dug out her mobile phone from her coat pocket. Her list of Recently Called only had four contacts in it. She selected a particular number and pressed the Call button.
At times like these, Devon intensely disliked her inability to write or even text. If not for that, she’d be able to text discreetly, instead of having to do these awkward calls where she might be overheard.
Three rings, followed by the stillness that came from someone picking up but not speaking.
Because it wasn’t safe to talk, Devon pressed the asterisk key in rapid succession. On her end, the phone was perfectly silent, but for her listener, they would hear the sound of a key dial arranged into longer and shorter beeps as she converted the phrase Change of plan sit tight for more info into a string of Morse code:
She waited a tense few seconds, receiver to her ear, for a series of return beeps to ping down the line.
Roger that.
“Are you done yet?” Hester called through the door.
Devon covered the mobile’s mic with her thumb. “Keep your shirt on.”